Slave Girl
by Rivin Tarinius Majere
Summary: (18 up!) Farrah is a slave in Carthak. Once owned by a slave seller, someone finally bought her; the Emperor of Carthak, the very man she had vowed to destroy when he conquered her Tortallan village. What will she do when he takes an interest in her?
1. Chapter One

**Slave Girl**  
  
Farrah was able to sneak out of the slave's quarters for the first time in months. Silently, she picked her way through the drowsing bodies to the door. It was normally guarded, but the usual sentry had been lured away by the call of ale. He would be back shortly, and now was Farrah's only chance.  
  
She slipped through the door, closing it silently behind her. Quickly, she flitted into the shadows, running outside among the gardens. She had no intention of running away. Having tried it when she was owned by a slave- seller, she had no doubt that it would be all the harder now that she belonged to His Imperial Majesty. She was content simply to be away from the putrid smelling bodies of the other slaves; and to have moment to herself.  
  
She stopped running when she finally reached the gardens. Slowly, looking about in case anyone came near, she stepped silently through a couple of elegantly cut bushes, coming to a balcony where she could look down on the River Zekoi. She sighed, and leaned against the railing, breathing in the rich soily air. She closed her eyes, growing sleepy in the cool night air. She began to dream – or, rather, remember.  
  
_Running through the fields, laughing as the rough grasses tickled her chin and elbows. Laughing for no reason except that the sun was shinning, and she was alive. Falling down onto the grasses, head pillowed by her arms. The little girl blissfully watched the clouds pass overhead.  
  
Then, as suddenly as a summer storm, the skies darkened, and the sun faded to a blood red. Farrah leapt to her feet, staring intently at a hill rise. Noise filled the air; yells, war cries, pounding hooves. Trembling, the girl stepped backwards. Then, the army rose above the hill, brandishing swords, pikes, and spears.  
  
Now Farrah fled, running as fast as her short legs could take her towards her village, screaming at the top of her lungs.  
  
"Carthakis!" she screamed. "CARTHAKIS!"  
_  
Farrah jolted herself out of her memories. That had been two years ago, when she was only thirteen. The Carthakis had invaded her Tortallan village, killing the men and taking the women and children as slaves. Most were sold quickly, with their hair shorn off, leaving them with a slave's bald head. Farrah had been allowed to keep her own golden locks; but, considering the price she was sure to pay for it, she would rather have been shaved.  
  
In her reverie, she had not heard the soft footfalls behind her. When a hand reached out to lie on her shoulder, it was obvious that she tried to hide a shudder. When the hand allowed her to, she turned slowly, her head tilted up to look into the gilded eyes of the emperor of Carthak.  
  
He studied her carefully with hard eyes.  
  
"What are you doing out here, slave?" he asked softly. Farrah shivered; it would have been better if he had yelled. Still, she turned defiant eyes on him, refusing to answer. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her drop to the ground on her knees, head touched to the floor before him. He was not _her_ emperor. He was the reason she was kept in slavery while her family had been put to death. Oh no, she would _not_ prostrate herself before this man. She did not call him 'Your Imperial Majesty,' not even 'sir.' She knew she was likely to earn a beating for it later, but she would not pump his ego by seeing yet another slave drop before him.  
  
"I asked you a question, _slave_." Casually, he lifted a golden painted hand, and just as casually, smacked her across the face, so hard that she went sprawling to the ground. "And you will kneel before your emperor. Or suffer the consequences."  
  
Farrah glared at him through her lashes. She could feel his hand print throbbing on her cheek. Still, she stood up.  
  
"I will not give you the _satisfaction_ of seeing me bow before you. You are not my emperor; and you could never be _half_ the man _or_ king that Jonathon of Conte is-"She hadn't even finished speaking when Emperor Ozorne hit her again. She stumbled back into the railing, holding onto it tightly. She stood defiantly as the emperor neared. Slapping her again, she fell this time to the ground, landing roughly on her knees. She winced; that would leave marks. She struggled to her feet; her arms throbbed from having to catch and push herself up, and the pain in her knees had spread to the rest of her legs.  
  
When Farrah was again erect, the emperor stood very close to her. She glared rebelliously up at him. Ozorne was smiling strangely down at her. In one swift movement, he took Farrah's head between his hands, and bent down, covering her mouth roughly with his. Eyes wide, Farrah tried to pull away, but the emperor's hands blocked her from doing so. He held her in the kiss for so long that Farrah began to feel light headed.  
  
When Ozorne finally broke the kiss, he smiled cruelly down at her. "Do not forget, slave, that I own you. I can, and will, take you whenever I please. I will do what I wish to you. I can order you beaten within an inch of your life; I can order your arms and legs bound and have you thrown into the Zekoi. Do not forget that each action receives a reaction. And I doubt – I hope – you won't like the reaction I give. This is a warning. Go back to your quarters, before you invoke my wrath." He turned, and walked away through the gardens, back to wherever he had come from. Farrah stared dazedly after him. Slowly, her stunned expression turned to hate. He owned her? He _owned_ her? No one owned her. She was a living, breathing human, just as he and his ministers were. She was one slave he would _not_ break easily.


	2. Chapter Two

Sneaking back into the slave quarters wasn't too hard. Farrah picked her way through the other slaves to her place next to the wall. She sat down, arms around her knees. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, letting her head bump against the wall. She could remember being free. Thirteen years as a free Tortallan, two years as a slave; it wasn't hard to figure what she remembered most. She remembered being allowed to do as she wished, go where she wished. That wasn't a choice here. She had to be told she could before being able to go anywhere, do anything. Since her village had been conquered, her owners had tried to break her. Always. They would hit her, beat her till she couldn't stand. But nothing could break her. She would always be free, so long as no one could shatter her spirit. But she was afraid now, afraid as she had never been for the to years she had been in Carthak. She was owned by the Emperor now; he would not stand for an unbroken slave. And she shuddered to think what he would do in order to break her. He hadn't had her ordered to keep her hair for no reason. She knew he was not a gentle man; she would be hurt – badly – if ever he felt bored. He had the power. And he knew it. Farrah was scared that tonight might have been her last act of defiance.  
  
Sighing, Farrah laid down. She would think of the future in the future. Until then, she would rebel against this slavery.  
  
She had just fallen asleep when a guard opened the door.  
  
"That one," a voice whispered, pointing. He pointed to Farrah's sleeping body. 


	3. Chapter Three

A hand covered her mouth, pinched her nose. Farrah's eyes flew open, and she struggled against the hands that suffocated her. She could feel herself being lifted, and resisted even more. She tried to pull away, but the lack of air started to take effect. Her lungs burned, and she felt very faint. Spasmodically, her hands reached to grab a hold of the ones that kept her from breathing. Her arms and legs jerked in paroxysms as her vision dimmed.  
  
"Stupid fool," she heard a voice mutter. She tried to scream, but all that came was a muffled yell. She looked up with frightened, pleading eyes at the man who held her. He glared at her, but moved the fingers covering her nose. She sucked in air greedily, her head spinning, black spots dotting her vision. She blinked a few times to clear them, and looked quickly around her. She glared at the man holding her, and started struggling anew.  
  
"Stop it," he snarled at her. "Or did you like not breathing?" She stopped thrashing about, but continued to glare vehemently at her captor. She wanted to scream at him, ask him where he was taking her. But she couldn't speak for his hand covering her mouth. Her hands were clenched, and she waited impatiently until he finally came to a stop. He opened a door, and, stepping in, threw her to the ground. Then he bowed low, and backed out of the room.  
  
Frowning at the man's behavior, she rolled to her hands and knees. Slowly, she turned around, standing as she did so. Her eyes flitted around, examining the room. It was huge; it was a bedroom. And there was somebody lying on the bed. Farrah stiffened; she knew that this would come eventually, but she didn't think it would be so soon. When she looked closer at the man's face, she had to stifle a gasp. She bit the inside of her lip. It was Emperor Ozorne.  
  
He stood languidly, and strode over to her. As he came closer, she backed up, until she banged against the wall. Ozorne stood very close to her, smiling cruelly down on her. At his staring, Farrah became indignant.  
  
"What do you want-"He slapped her. She stumbled to the side, trying to keep her balance. She spun her arms, trying to stop herself from falling. Ozorne struck her again. She lost her balance, falling sprawled out to the floor. Ozorne grinned cruelly. Breathing hard, she tried to crawl backward, but Ozorne reached down and grabbed her arm, dragging her back to him. Bending down, he lifted her struggling body and deposited her on the bed. He held her arms down, pinning her legs under his knees. He smiled maliciously. Farrah rocked her body against the bed, trying to pull away. His hands began to glow a light green, and Farrah found that she couldn't move at all. Try as she might, the only thing that hadn't been immobilized were her eyes. They flitted around, looking desperately for some escape.  
  
Ozorne leaned down to kiss her roughly, bruising her lips with his. He let go of her arms, and moved his hands down along her body harshly. She wanted to scream at the feeling of violation she felt rise inside her; she couldn't even move her mouth.  
  
Ozorne's hands moved down the hollow of her stomach, caressing it ruthlessly, with soft, gilded hands. He moved back upward, his hands sliding under her shirt. She couldn't suppress a shudder as she felt him touch her breasts. He pinched her nipples, making her gasp in pain. Again, she tried to struggle; he had slackened the spell; apparently, he liked his bed-slave to fight.  
  
He rocked his body against hers as he tore off the tattered shirt she wore. He cupped her breasts in his hands, squeezing them, hard. Farrah bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out; she was adamant. She would not call out, no matter what he did. He had no power over her; no _real_ power.  
  
She could not, however, keep the tears from falling as he desecrated her body, her very self. When he saw her weep, he smiled brutally.  
  
"You're a slave," he told her softly. "A lowly slave, fit only to serve."  
  
"I – am – not!" she choked out the words as he pinched her. She could feel pain blossoming all over; her arms, her legs, her stomach, her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth; she could still not move enough to get away. Ozorne stilled his movements. He himself wore nothing now, having stripped away his own clothes even as he stripped away hers. Slowly, very slowly, he rested the tip of his manhood at her opening.  
  
"You're not?" he asked. It was a simple question, but there was underlying venom in the way he said it that made Farrah shudder uncontrollably. She opened her eyes to see his face. She was defiant, despite her fear; she was still virgin; and she didn't want to lose that claim now. The calm, beautiful face twisted quickly into a mask of malice, and he growled out, "No?" She made an effort to shake her head. Ozorne sneered.  
  
"Oh, but I do believe you are." He thrust into her, sheathing himself to the hilt. She could not keep herself from screaming with the pain of it. Her screams grew louder as he thrusted into her, bruising her thighs with his weight.  
  
She shuddered convulsively, wishing she were somewhere else. He kept thrusting, despite her cries and pleas for him to stop. She felt something build up inside her, and, when it reached its peak, she shuddered. Finally, she felt him stiffen above her, and he pulled out of her to straddle her shivering body.  
  
"You _are_." He told her in a low voice. He rolled over to stretch out in the bed beside her. She felt the magical tension in her hands ease, and she pulled her self slowly into a ball. Her back turned to him, she slid to the edge of the bed, trying to keep as far away from him as she could. Bringing her knees to her chin, she closed her eyes and wept for her lost self. She felt shattered, broken...  
  
_No!_ She thought. _He will not break me so easily as this. He will not...break me...  
_  
Ignoring the pain she felt between her legs and all over her body, she let herself fall into oblivion. The only thing that mattered was keeping him away. And making sure he knew she would not be broken. 


	4. Chapter Four

"You know, it _could_ be worse," Sabra told Farrah the next day. They were seated in the slave's quarters, on Farrah's 'bed.'  
  
"_How?_" she asked, disgusted. Sabra was the one and only friend – or the closest thing she had to a friend as a slave – Farrah had in Carthak. She had been the one to comfort Farrah through her first weeks as a slave, and the one to help her with life in the palace.  
  
Farrah had been careful to hide certain things from Sabra; she didn't trust her as far as she could throw the girl. Despite their friendship, Farrah could never tell her everything; Sabra was a broken slave. If asked to, she would tell everything she knew about any of her fellow slaves. But so would all broken slaves, to avoid beatings. So Farrah had never told her of her planned escapes; she would have gone to their owner, or whatever official was nearest, and told. She could not be trusted. But she did prove to have a brain, if not a will.  
  
"Well, you _could_ have been owned by some smelly old man in the slums of Carthak City," she said, smiling. Farrah forced a rueful smile.  
  
"I could've," she said. Her face turned to a mask of hate. "But I'm not. I'm owned by the emperor of all of Carthak, the very man who ordered my family murdered; and the very man I want dead."  
  
Sabra's eyes widened in fear, and she glanced around hurriedly.  
  
"Shhh!" She said quickly. "Someone might hear you!" They were resting during their precious rare free time, with some of the others in the room.  
  
"Than let them hear," she whispered fervently, though she kept her voice low. "Damn him for doing this. I'm freeborn. _Freeborn!_ If it weren't for him and his damnably good army, I wouldn't be here! I _wouldn't be here!_ It's his fault that my parents are dead. It's his fault that my brothers are dead. It's his fault my baby sister was drowned, thrown into the Great Inland Sea. I have no family left. None! He killed them all!" She stared disgustedly at her hands, placing them on her face, her hair, her eyes. "And he spared me, all for a pretty face!" She dug her nails into her cheeks, as if she could tear away the tears and memories that rose inside her. Quickly, Sabra reached out to pull Farrah's hands away from her face. She was sobbing now, and leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. Sabra made comforting noises as she petted the other girl's back.  
  
Farrah cried for the rest of the time she had free. Then the taskmaster came in to order them to their different tasks. He walked up to Farrah last.  
  
"You're to serve His Imperial Majesty in his chambers," he told her nastily. There was a permanent sneer on his face. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She sat there staring angrily at him. If it was possible, his sneer deepened. He backhanded Farrah across the mouth. She went sprawling backward, throwing out her hands to catch herself, rolling quickly to her knees, ready for another hit. The man had turned, though, and left quickly through the door. Farrah put a tentative hand to her lip, wincing as she brushed a cut. Her hand came away with blood on it. Sighing disgustedly, she wiped it on a piece of torn cloth. She turned to Sabra.  
  
"In his chambers? Wonderful. Of all nights, he chooses this one to eat alone." She shuddered. "Perhaps not alone." Swiftly, she stood, and walked out the door, toward the kitchens. She tried to straighten the scraps she wore, but they were ill fitting, and hung loosely from her slight body.  
  
In the kitchens, she took the food she was to bring to the emperor, and, taking a deep breath, made her way up to his chambers. 


	5. Chapter Five

First off, thanks for all the reviews. ( I think you might kill me for this, but…I think – at least for now – I plan to have Farrah fall in love with Ozorne…but that's what he wants, so it's bad…um, I guess you'll read more when it comes. ( And for the rating, I changed it before I uploaded chapter three, but I forgot to hit 'save changes.'(  
  
  
  
  
  
She knocked twice on the door that led into Ozorne's suite of rooms. She waited outside for a few moments, finally hearing the doorknob turn. Farrah looked up in surprise; she hadn't even heard him walking.  
  
Ozorne looked down at her, his eyes glittering. He stood back to let her in. Farrah hesitated only a moment before lifting her head proudly and stepped in. She made her way to the small table that was placed in the center of the seating room.  
  
She set the tray down, then made to turn and leave. She took two steps before Ozorne caught at her arm. Farrah stiffened, and tried to pull her arm away. She tried to pry his fingers from her arm, pulling one back just to find it on her arm again as she moved to another.  
  
"Stand still." His voice was so gentle that Farrah stopped fighting. Eyes wide in surprise, she turned to look at him, mouth slightly agape. Softly, almost tenderly, he drew her to him. He touched her face with affectionate fingers, pausing for a moment at her temples. Farrah's eyes fluttered shut, and her head slumped over her chest. Ozorne drew his hands away, the green light fading from his fingers. Tilting her head up, he bent over her, covering her lips gently with his.  
  
Taken aback, she gasped into his mouth. He took advantage of her open mouth, and pushed his tongue gently into her mouth, exploring the interior.  
  
Gaining her wits, Farrah started to push him away, to pull herself away from his grasp. But then, she thought, why? Why struggle against this man? It would be easier to give in, to break…  
  
Her mind felt blank, like a white, colorless void, in which all she saw was a faint green glimmer. The glimmer of magic…  
  
No! Her soul screamed at her. Do not let him do this! Wake up! See with your own eyes!  
  
Farrah opened her eyes – which she had closed, caught up in the gentle kiss she shared with the emperor – and saw the man's own eyes open. They were glittering with amusement. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were hard, and cold, and stripping. Horrified, Farrah pushed away from him. He arched an eyebrow in surprise. Her mouth was open in disgust, her eyes showing her revulsion.  
  
"What did you do to me?" she whispered.  
  
"A simple spell," Ozorne replied calmly. "It wipes your mind clean of thought, and places my own within it. Rather useful, actually. Though I'm surprised you resisted it," he mused to himself. He regarded her thoughtfully, though his eyes were still hard. Farrah drew a breath and summoned the dignity she possessed to stare coldly back at him.  
  
She turned on her heel and walked quickly towards the door, hoping to leave before he could react. She wasn't so lucky. With a wave of his hand, green light shone around her body, and she froze for the second time in her life, unable to move. He walked leisurely over to her, standing in front of her immobilized body.  
  
"What to do with you," he murmured. "I'm obviously not trying hard enough. Don't get cocky; I won't let you go on defying me." He glared at her, and motioned to the door.  
  
"Get out."  
  
""Gladly," she spat at him. Finding mobility in her legs again, she ran from the room. It was dark out already; most of the slaves wouldn't be coming back from their tasks for another hour or so. Just as well. Farrah crawled onto her pallet, thinking. She needed to get out. She needed to leave. Now. 


	6. Chapter Six

By the next day, Farrah awoke with a plan formed in her mind. By another two days, she had the details worked out. She had heard tales of a man who had, at opportune times, helped to free slaves. The knowledge was nonexistent among the nobles of Carthak, but the teacher at the university made it known to those slaves that wanted out that he, Lindhall Reed, was ready and waiting to help them. Farrah had heard it before, but she had been hesitant about accepting his help. She was not so proud that she didn't want to be beholden to a person for the right reasons, but she didn't want to endanger the man who could help so many slaves. She was afraid that something would go wrong and Reed would be caught. But she couldn't worry about that know.  
  
Through a chain of well-placed slaves, Farrah made contact with Lindhall. He was happy to help, though he warned her that she would have to plan it within the week, or wait until the next group of slaves came forward for help. Farrah, of course, agreed to be waiting outside the palace doors at the appointed time. Sneaking out of the slave rooms was her job; if she couldn't make it, the group would leave without her. Despite the slim chances, Farrah agreed.  
  
Two days after she spoke with the teacher, she was ready to leave. There were others in the room she shared with slaves who would be attempting an escape with her. The day before they were due to leave, Farrah and another girl talked quietly on her pallet.  
  
"Wait until the guard leaves, even if you think there won't be enough time. You have to take chances; big chances. Be ready to do what needs to be done." Farrah nodded as the other girl took her leave, making her way to her own sleeping area as the lights were blown out.  
  
Before Farrah settled down to sleep, she saw Sabra staring at her strangely. Licking her lips, Farrah dismissed it; she couldn't have heard. No, no it wouldn't happen. She couldn't have heard… 


	7. Chapter Seven

The night before she was due to escape, Ozorne summoned Farrah to his chambers. When she entered, she stood near the door, waiting.  
  
"I desire entertainment," the emperor drawled. "Can you play the lute?"  
  
"Of course," Farrah scoffed. She may have lived in a small village, but she certainly was not ill taught.  
  
"Good." He pulled the stringed instrument from a table and handed it to her. He then sat in a large chair and leaned back, closing his eyes. Belatedly, he pointed to a wooden stool on which Farrah was to sit. Cradling the precious instrument to her chest, she sat down on the stool, and proceeded to pluck the strings, checking the tune. Then a melody began to emerge from the careful plucking of Farrah's delicate fingers.  
  
"I've lost my battle before it starts,  
  
My first breath wasn't done,  
  
My spirit's sunken deep into the ground  
  
Why am I alone?  
  
I can hear my heartbeat  
  
Silence's all around  
  
  
  
"See hate will rise,  
  
So don't come closer  
  
Fear your child.  
  
Born with a queen's heart  
  
But fate fooled me  
  
And changed my cards  
  
None asked if I want it  
  
If I like it  
  
  
  
"Pain inside is rising,  
  
I am the fallen one,  
  
A figure in an old game,  
  
No joker's on my side,  
  
I've plunged into misery,  
  
I'll turn off the light,  
  
And murder the dawn  
  
Turn off the light,  
  
And murder the dawn.  
  
  
  
"Nothing else  
  
But laughter is around me,  
  
Forevermore  
  
No one can heal me,  
  
Nothing can save me,  
  
No one can heal me  
  
I've gone beyond the truth  
  
It's just another lie  
  
Wash away the blood on my hands  
  
My father's blood  
  
In agony, we're unified  
  
  
  
"I never wanted to be  
  
What thy told me to be,  
  
Fulfill me fate than I'll be free  
  
Gods know how long,  
  
I tried to change fate"  
  
  
  
She stopped singing to perform a beautiful solo, strumming the chords with light, skilled fingers.  
  
"Pain inside is rising,  
  
I am the fallen one,  
  
A figure in an old game,  
  
No joker's on my side,  
  
I've plunged into misery,  
  
I'll turn off the light,  
  
And murder the dawn  
  
Turn off the light,  
  
And murder the dawn."  
  
Her voice rose and fell with the chords, singing a lone incoherent word.  
  
"I plunged into misery,  
  
I'll turn off the light  
  
And murder the dawn,  
  
Turn off the light,  
  
And murder the dawn!!"  
  
She plucked the last few chords, closing her eyes in the relish of music. Since she was very small, she had enjoyed the gift of music. Opening her eyes, she glanced at Ozorne. He, for all appearances, seemed to have gone to sleep, but Farrah knew better. There was a subtle stiffness in his limbs, giving away his readiness to jump up in any case. She knew better to try to sneak away. Besides, she didn't want to; it had been years since she had been able to touch or play a lute. Glancing again at the emperor, she scowled. If that had put him asleep, then maybe this would awaken him. Her fingers struck a harsh chord. It started off quietly, but grew into a beautiful crescendo.  
  
"The seas have parted,  
  
Then ending's started,  
  
The sky has turned to black.  
  
A killing spree through eternity, The devil stabs you in the back,  
  
It's midnight now, you must escape somehow,  
  
Torture is his leisure,  
  
Don't try to hide he'll make you subside,  
  
As he exchanges pain for pleasure.  
  
"Pain for pleasure, he's the hunter you're the game,  
  
Pain for pleasure, Satan is his name!"  
  
She had been right. His head snapped up, and he looked at her, an odd expression on his face. She glared at him as she struck the last notes of the song. The song had come from far away, someplace past Saran. Still, she thought it was appropriate for the moment.  
  
Ozorne stood quickly, and took Farrah by the shoulders. A strange look played across his face.  
  
"Why do you hate me so?"  
  
Farrah's eyes widened and her mouth dropped in disgust.  
  
"Bright Mithros above!" she exclaimed. "Have you no sense? You had my family slaughtered! All of them! And then you took me as a slave! I hate you! I pray to the Great Ones above that someday, someone you underestimate will finally bring you to the end! I-" He shook her. Farrah's head snapped backward and forward, and she felt nauseous. Her neck felt limp, and she closed her eyes to stop the spinning room.  
  
"You will not speak to me so," he told her sternly. "I did not have them murdered. We are at war with Tortall-"  
  
"No you aren't," she spat at him. "It isn't a war until you declare it. And you haven't. What you did is called a raid."  
  
"It matters not. I am your master. You will obey me until you die or-" he laughed a bit. "-I release you."  
  
She glared at him. "Release me! Let go of me! Now!"  
  
"How dare you spout orders to me! I will not tolerate insubordination!" He shook her, and tapped the lute in her hands.  
  
"I summoned you here for entertainment. Sing me another song, then leave immediately."  
  
She stared at him. One song. One more song, and then she could leave. And she knew just the song.  
  
"To this world I'm unimportant just  
  
Because I have nothing to give  
  
So you call this your free country  
  
Tell me why it costs so much to live  
  
Tell me why  
  
  
  
"This world can turn me down  
  
But I won't turn away, oh no  
  
I won't turn around.  
  
  
  
"All my work and endless measures  
  
Never seem to get me very far  
  
Walk a mile just to move an inch  
  
Now even though I'm trying so  
  
Damn hard  
  
I'm trying so hard  
  
  
  
"This world can turn me down but I  
  
Won't turn away  
  
And I won't duck and run, cause  
  
I'm not built that way  
  
When everything is gone there is  
  
Nothing there to fear  
  
This world cannot bring me down  
  
No cause I'm already here, oh no!  
  
  
  
"I'm already here, down  
  
On my knees  
  
I am already here, oh no, I am  
  
Already here  
  
I must have told you a thousand  
  
Times I'm not running away  
  
  
  
"I won't duck and run  
  
I won't duck and run  
  
I won't duck and run  
  
No pass away  
  
  
  
"This world can turn me down but  
  
I won't turn away  
  
And I won't duck and run, cause I'm not built that way  
  
When everything is gone there  
  
Is nothing there to fear  
  
This world cannot bring me down  
  
No cause I'm already here  
  
  
  
"This world can turn me down but  
  
I won't turn away  
  
And I won't duck and run, cause I'm not built that way  
  
When everything is gone there  
  
Is nothing there to fear  
  
This world cannot bring me down  
  
No cause I'm already here!"  
  
  
  
She finished the last chords with a flourish of her fingers. Then she stood, placed the lute on the stool, and turned her back on the emperor, slamming the door shut behind her. 


	8. Chapter Eight

She left Ozorne in surprise. He stared at the door long after her departure. What a head on those small shoulders.He could think of some other nice parts of her body, but shook his head at the distraction. She would not be an easy slave. She would not turn around the next morning and willingly warm his bed. It would take a while. And Ozorne was not a patient man. Slowly, as he sat staring at the door she had slammed, a plan began to form in his mind. One of the other slaves had asked to speak with him about Farrah. She had said that she had overheard Farrah speaking with another girl, about a plan to leave.He had dismissed it at the time, but as the told day approached, he wondered. It was very likely that the next day at midnight, Farrah would try to take her leave of the palace. And if she did.Ozorne would be waiting.  
  
  
  
By midnight the next day, Farrah was wide-awake. She was lying on her pallet, waiting for her time to leave. There were two girls who were scheduled to sneak out before her. The last girl had left seven minutes ago. Farrah closed her eyes a moment, and took a deep breath. Then she stood silently, and picked her way carefully through the sleeping slaves. She opened the door a crack, and peered out. No guard. He must be tending to other duties.Farrah shivered as she thought of what those could be. Quickly, she darted out of the room, practically flying through the shadows. She was nearing the entrance she was to leave by when she heard it. Feet. Lots of them. She pulled herself up short in a dark corner, and peeked around. There were five to fifteen soldiers milling about. Farrah caught her breath, and turned back around, thinking. Then she heard the voice that nearly shattered her nerves.  
  
"All right, men. You will patrol this area, and watch for anyone who is not to be here." The Emperor told the soldiers.  
  
Farrah closed her eyes, and thought. How was she to get away? The shadows. Those were her answer. That's how she was to sneak away. She glanced over once more, and took a breath. Then she darted around the corner, hugging the wall as tightly as she could, remaining in the shadows. Slowly - very slowly - she inched around the guards. And soon she reached the entrance doors. She opened them slightly, and looked out. The two men who watched the doors at all hours had been diverted - how, she knew not. IN any case, she snuck through the doors - and into the wide, un-covered courtyard. She could see a group of people standing anxiously at the edge of the courtyard. A closer inspection showed a few slaves she recognized. Taking a deep breath, she bolted for the group.  
  
She was nearly halfway toward them when they began to run from her. Confused, she ran faster, but they only sped up. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw something that made her stumble and fall, twisting her foot beneath her. She stifled a cry, not knowing why she bothered. They knew she was there already. Behind her, a whole group of soldiers were running after her, and Ozorne with them. Of course, he was to dignified to run. He walked sedately behind the soldiering mass. Painfully, Farrah tried to rise to her feet. Once she was standing, she took a moment to steady herself. Then she tried to run.  
  
And promptly fell forward, landing painfully on her hands. Looking behind her, she could see the guards closing in, and in front of her, the other slaves were out of sight. There was no hope for her know. Of course, she didn't realize this yet. Struggling on her hands and knees, she fought for every inch she took.  
  
In minutes, she was grabbed from behind and forced to her feet, held at a height that she couldn't rightly stand or kneel at. Her foot was twisted at a strange angle, and she could barely keep her head up. Despite her preparations, and the adrenaline rush of moments before, it was the middle of the night.  
  
She fought her head up, glaring into the face of Carthak's Emperor.  
  
"Trying to escape, are we?" He drawled out.  
  
She spat at his feet. "Damn you," she whispered. Ozorne nodded to the soldier holding her, and all to suddenly she felt herself being pushed to her knees. Farrah felt a hand at her neck, and then cold air on her bare back as the man ripped the already ragged shirt open. He tied her hands with a length of rope.  
  
And then she heard the slither of a whip being uncoiled. Her eyes widened in dread. Clenching her teeth, she tensed her back, and waited for the first blow. 


	9. Chapter Nine

It came hard, it's whistle the only warning as it came through the air, cracking on her back. She cried out, and tears sprang to her eyes. Someone behind her grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her head to look up at Ozorne.  
  
"Who escaped?" His voice was nonchalant, as if he didn't mind that his latest 'toy' was being whipped. She didn't answer. Ozorne nodded, and the whipped cracked again. She wasn't prepared, and sucked in breath with which to yell, arching her back.  
  
"Who assisted you? Answer me, slave!"  
  
"L-leave me alone!" She could only whisper. It felt as if her back had been lit on fire. The whip sang once more, and Farrah flinched. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, unchecked, and uncaring. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the pain.  
  
"Who smuggled you out? Answer me!" He was screaming now. The whip struck again, and white flashed behind her eyes. She felt as if she would faint. She summoned her courage, and raised her head to look at him, glaring defiantly.  
  
"No one you will ever know about!" She shrieked. "You bastard, how long do you think your rule will last? Everyone hates you! Everyone!" Tears were pouring doing her cheeks, as blood dripped down her back. She felt a chill, and realized that her breasts were half bared, for all the guards to see. Even in pain, she had the decency to be embarrassed. A hot blush spread across her face, and she tried to shrug her shoulders in a way the shirt would be pulled back on. It slipped lower. Farrah stopped worrying about the shirt as another lash landed. She nearly screamed as it landed across previous cuts.  
  
Ozorne held up a hand, and she could hear the whip being recoiled. The guards were dispersing. He snapped his fingers, and one approached him.  
  
"Take her to my rooms. I will carry on the questioning there, in private."  
  
"Yes, my Emperor."  
  
As a hand was laid across the welts on her back to lift her, she blacked out. 


	10. Chapter Ten

(A/N: Hi guys - sorry I kept this so long. I had a sudden inspiration from God-knows-what, and started writing more. So.Here it is. ^_^ And Lioness, There really is no hope of her falling for Kaddar.I hadn't even planned to bring him in. Sorry. I have plans for this story. A couple, actually. Picking an ending for this thing is going to be hard. ^_^  
  
  
  
She awoke in Ozorne's bedroom. She was laying on the floor, hands and legs bound together. She could feel blood running over her back, and some on her lip. The sting told her that Ozorne had decided a whipping wasn't enough. She groaned, and rolled to her side, unable to stand. She could see Carthak's emperor seated in a plush chair, staring at her.  
  
"So the slave awakens," he mused aloud. She would have glared at him, but her eyes hurt so terribly. She elicited a soft moan, and shut her tired eyes. Her head was tucked into her chest - all she wanted to do was sleep.  
  
Seeing her turn away from him, Ozorne stood quickly, and walked over to her. He lifted her limp form, and placed her none too gently on the bed.  
  
"You will look at me when I speak to you!" He hissed. "Who were you following? How did you plan to leave the palace?"  
  
She opened her eyes, and moved her head up slowly to look at him. Her face was calm, almost serene.  
  
"I hope you're expected."  
  
"Expected by whom?" Ozorne was growing impatient.  
  
"By the Black God, because I pray that he'll take you soon." The second she finished her sentence, the emperor's hand flashed out, striking her across the mouth. She spat out blood onto his fine gold sheets, earning herself another slap. She swallowed hard, and rolled away from Ozorne, showing him her bloodied back. Ozorne cursed loudly, and turned her over once again, only to find her eyes closed, her body slacked. He checked for a life beat - after all, a dead slave was no fun at all. She was alive, though the beat was slow. She needed rest. Well, if she were more energetic, she would certainly provide more entertainment. So he untied her hands and feet, and climbed into the bed beside her. Let her wake up here, and be frightened. It mattered little to Carthak's emperor. On a whim, he magically locked the doors, just incase she awoke before him. He looked at her somewhat mangled form and chuckled. She was bleeding onto his sheets, but that was something that another slave could easily remedy. Her mouth was open slightly, and she was breathing heavily through it. Blood ran from her nose slowly. Her eyes were closed, and dark purple circles rimmed them.  
  
Ozorne smiled, then pulled the covers over himself, and fell asleep.  
  
  
  
She stirred.  
  
It was hard for her to move her arm enough to pull the covers off of her. She didn't know how they'd gotten there, or where she was, and quite frankly, she didn't care. She groaned, and tried to sit up, succeeding only in falling down, landing on the floor on her hands and knees. She bit her lip in pain, and forced herself to stand. Farrah blinked, trying to banish the darkness that edged her vision. With one hand on the bedpost, she stared around the room.  
  
It was familiar. And the man in the bed was also familiar. She looked at Ozorne's face. It was - serene, almost. Quiet. Peaceful. Farrah groaned. Her back was hurting something fierce; and her lip stung. She took a step forward, towards the door, leaning her other hand on the post when she nearly stumbled. Her legs felt cramped; she must not have moved all night.  
  
Farrah swallowed hard. Her throat and mouth were dry. She breathed shallowly, knowing that any deep inhalation would cause her to cough - and she wouldn't be able to stop. She tried again to walk forward, but she tripped herself up, and had to clasp onto the board at the foot of the bed. She glanced at the emperor, to ascertain herself that he was not awake. She had to do a double take, seeing his eyes closed on the first look. She wouldn't have looked back up if she hadn't felt his eyes on him. Ozorne hadn't moved at all, save to open his eyes. It was almost frightening, seeing him staring at her in such a way. Her mouth opened and closed several times. Farrah glanced toward the large window that adorned nearly half of the upper wall. It was still dark out, though light began to touch the sky.  
  
Without ever hearing or feeling him move, Ozorne stood to come and stand behind Farrah. Very close behind her. She stood still, absolutely terrified. Amazing what a good whipping could do to a young woman's courage.  
  
He raised a hand to trail a finger across the lines on her back; she was still utterly naked. Farrah's breath came short and quick as pain moved through her limbs. The welts on her back felt as if liquid fire moved through them. Her fists clenched around the footboard, and her knees nearly gave out.  
  
With rough hands, Ozorne turned her around, holding her arms tight enough to bruise.  
  
"Now, then." His voice was quiet - dangerously calm. "Who are you?"  
  
"Farrah of Tortall."  
  
"Wrong answer." He lifted a hand and struck her across the cheek, hard enough to turn her head. She sucked in her breath, and started to cough, violently. Ozorne stood and watched as the girl choke, waiting until she had caught her breath to speak.  
  
"You are a slave of Emperor Ozorne. That is how you shall answer. I've been far too lenient, and now you aggravate me."  
  
Farrah tried to glare - really she did. The only thing she succeeded in was looking as terrified as she felt.  
  
"Now. Who are you?"  
  
"F-Farrah of Tortall." The words were less sure, and Ozorne smiled inwardly. Diffidently, he slapped her again, on the other cheek. Now two identical bright red marks stood out on her face.  
  
"No. You are a slave of the Emperor Ozorne. Who are you?" His voice was harsher. The man grew bored.  
  
A scowl began to creep across her face. "I am Farrah of Tortall!"  
  
"No! You are a slave of the Emperor Ozorne. Who are you?" Another slap across her face, and one again the other way. She persisted.  
  
"Farrah o-" She didn't even finish the sentence before Ozorne's fingers wrapped around her throat.  
  
"If you cannot say what you are told, then perhaps you won't need to speak at all." His grip tightened, and Farrah gasped for breath, slowly choking in the vice-like grip. Her hand spasmed as she tried to pull his away.  
  
"Please," she whispered.  
  
"Please, what?" For a moment, Farrah refused to speak. Ozorne's hand tightened.  
  
"Let go of me!" She was growing angry, and the peril to her life at the moment let her forget the beatings of the last.  
  
Ozorne's eyes narrowed, and he threw her onto the bed. He pulled off his shirt as he climbed onto the bed. She tried to move, to get out of the bed, but green light glowed, and she was, again, held immobile. Ozorne stripped the rest of his clothes down, and viciously thrust into her. She screamed; he may have ripped her open before, but being brutally torn into was no gentle thing.  
  
"It will be a long night for you, slave, of that I'm certain."  
  
"No - I'm not - I'm not a slave!" She gasped.  
  
"Who are you?" His hands were squeezed over her arms so tightly they bruised almost immediately.  
  
"F-F-Farrah-" She couldn't finish. It hurt so badly -  
  
Hours later, if one felt the urge to listen, words could be heard over screams and sobs.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"You're slave, Master." 


	11. Chapter Eleven

(A/N: ^_^ Please don't kill me. If you kill me, I can't finish the story. _}  
  
  
  
She lay on her side in the large bed, one hand underneath the pillow on which her head rested, the other on the sheets next to her. Most of the cuts on her back had healed, and left not even a scar. Farrah's eyes were half opened. It had been a long night. She was tired, and Ozorne slept beside her. Now was her chance to rest, the first one she'd had in what felt like days.  
  
It had been weeks since he'd broken her. Weeks that felt like years. Since that night, she hadn't fought back once. His objective was to terrify her into surrender, and he'd achieved his goal. And he was quite content with it, as well.  
  
Farrah heard movement behind her and froze, slowing her breathing. At her back, Ozorne stirred, and moved onto his side, putting an arm around Farrah's torso, to lay his hand on her breast. His elbow rested on the pillow above her head, and his head rested in the hand. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and squeezed his hand around her bosom when he felt how stiff she was.  
  
"You turned out to be a good slave," he whispered into her ear. Farrah said nothing, and he rolled on top of her, pinning her arms down with his own. She just lay there. Ozorne bent to nibble on her neck, kissing her eyelids, nose, cheeks, before finding her lips.  
  
Farrah closed her eyes. He was in an unusually gentle mood. Someone else might have thought that a blessing - Farrah hated it. When he was brutal, it was easier to remember that she was Tortallan, and freeborn. When he was like this.  
  
She loved him.  
  
So gentle were his caresses and strokes, she barely felt his fingers running skillfully along her body. She idly wondered how many he had taken to his bed - and quickly banished the thought. When he was this way, she wanted to believe that it was different with her; that he loved her. That she wasn't just a slave to him, but a person. A woman.  
  
It didn't hurt when he entered her. A blessing in that, at least. She sucked in her breath as he moved against her, and her hips rose to greet his. Ozorne's lips came to her neck, nibbling, sucking. His teeth urged the blood to rush to his mouth, and Farrah moaned. Then his mouth was eclipsing hers, and she felt a pressure building in her. Ozorne stiffened above her in climax, his hands tight on her shoulders. She cried out as the pressure exploded out of her.  
  
He rolled off of her, to lay on the other side of the bed. His breathing slowed quickly, and he seemed no worse for wear. Farrah lay there, chest heaving as she fought to take air into her lungs. Eventually, breathing came easier.  
  
Farrah turned her head to her emperor. He slept. She sighed, as unbidden tears rose to her eyes.  
  
"Goddess, Graveyard Hag, why?" She paused, and looked back at Ozorne. Then she stood, and walked to the window, holding only a sheet around her naked body. Farrah leaned her hot head against the cool glass, and sighed.  
  
"Why him?" 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Why him, indeed. Ozorne lay in his bed. He'd sent Farrah back to the slave quarters hours ago.  
  
He sighed. She wasn't quite so much.fun as when she fought. Already, Ozorne began to regret his rash decision to make her submissive. It was nice to 'make love' to a girl, instead of 'rape,' but it wasn't like him to always do that.  
  
He turned to stare out the window, unknowingly copying his slave's movements. Trouble was stirring, and he knew its cause, of course. But a man as proud as he would not admit to such. The Gods were up to something, he assumed.  
  
Well, they'd have him to contend with. He'd have vengeance on Tortall if it were the last thing he did.  
  
  
  
Her stomach heaved, and Farrah retched up the small breakfast she'd been able to scrounge. She had barely been able to make it to the chamber pot in the slave's quarters. It was still early morning, and the guards had only just come in to assign tasks. By the time she finished vomiting, the guard was irritatedly tapping his foot, waiting for her to finish. Farrah had the suspicion that Ozorne had ordered them to not harm her.  
  
When she was done, she wiped her mouth and stood.  
  
"'Ere, you'll be servin' meals t'day. And the Emper'r alone t'night."  
  
Farrah nodded.  
  
The day seemed to pass unbearably slow; Farrah's stomach was twisted all around the entire morning, and her breasts ached. She broke two glasses when she stumbled in the kitchens after somebody knocked into her, and she was sorely beaten for it - though not as badly, it seemed, as she would have been only months ago.  
  
Finally, suppertime came, and she entered the kitchens again to receive the emperor's food. Varice was there again, though she seemed as if she was on her way out. She wasn't seen much in the kitchen lately. Normally, she would be running the place, making sure that everything went smoothly.  
  
Farrah dismissed the thought, and went to Ozorne's room directly. As she had long ago, she knocked and waited, eyes cast down at her feet. This time, though, Ozorne's footsteps were heard.  
  
When the door was opened, Varice stood there. For a moment, Farrah could only gape. The woman narrowed her eyes, and quickly, the slave looked at the floor again, murmuring, "my apologies, nobility."  
  
The woman turned as Ozorne approached. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and motioned for Farrah to lay the tray on a far table. She did as he bid, not seeing him smirk silently, and bend to kiss Varice's neck. She smiled in her own, seductingly sweet way as he led her toward the bed.  
  
Farrah took the items off the tray, and moved as if to leave, but Ozorne halted her.  
  
"No." He pointed to a corner. "You will stay there for the night. Understand?" He and Varice moved to the bed, and almost unsurprisingly, began to take the other's clothes off. Farrah stared. This - this wouldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. She had to be dreaming.  
  
They were laying on the bed, beginning the foreplay. Farrah stared, still, unaware of the look of hurt and horror on her face. Ozorne looked in her direction, and smirked, just once, before flicking the curtains closed around the bed.  
  
Sounds of passion began to fill the room, and the tray clattered to the floor. Farrah leant against the closest wall, and slid down it's length to huddle in on herself. She tried to cover her ears, but Varice was a rather verbal lover.  
  
Farrah slept not at all the night, and fled the moment she was allowed. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Through the entire day, Farrah moved as if in a daze. Ozorne - and Varice? The slave had thought the emperor -  
  
She shook her head at one point to clear away the thoughts. How could she have though thus? The emperor, having feelings for his slave? She was only being foolish.  
  
That night, though, she sobbed into her arms until her eyes were dry and her throat sore. Her tears were gone, and she could weep no longer. And the night had barely begun.  
  
Bleary eyed, Farrah stood, and went to the door, barely remembering to check for a guard first. He was standing there at the door. The slave was about to turn away, and go back to her pallet, but the guard shifted, and walked out of sight.  
  
Farrah hesitated only a moment before dashing out. By all laws, she should have been caught. She should have been captured, again.  
  
But she wasn't. She ran to that place where it had all started, flitting from shadowy wall to darkened niche. The garden, the balcony; all were as they had been. Farrah stepped up to the railing, shivering despite the night's warm air. Apprehensively, she glanced over her shoulder before lifting herself over the rail, onto the tiny edge that was left. Her knuckles were white where they clutched the cold metal.  
  
And, terrified, her voice faulty and shaking, she sang.  
  
"I follow the night,  
  
Can't stand the light.  
  
When will I begin,  
  
To live again?  
  
"One day I'll fly away  
  
Leave all this to yesterday.  
  
What more could your love do for me,  
  
When will love be through with me?  
  
"Why live life,  
  
From dream to dream?  
  
And dread the day  
  
When dreaming ends.  
  
"One day I'll fly away  
  
Leave all this to yesterday.  
  
Why live life,  
  
From dream to dream?  
  
"And dread the day,  
  
When dreaming ends.  
  
"One day I'll fly away,  
  
Fly, fly, away."  
  
She was sobbing, and her grip was loosening on the rail.  
  
And then she jumped. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: Meant to have this up a while ago, but Fanfiction.Net wouldn't let me get onto the site.Grr grr, I say. Well, here it is. ^_^  
  
Time stopped, and Farrah was suspended in air. She was floating. Flying! She wasn't moving at all.  
  
Farrah lifted her head, and gasped. Before her were two very awesome, very different women. One was young, beautiful, and detached. The other was an old crone, ugly as a hag. She was grinning, either in mirth or sadistically, it was hard to tell.  
  
"Who are you?" Farrah's voice wavered. "What's happening?" Damn it, she couldn't even just end it, could she? It had to be prolonged.again.and again.and again.  
  
"Now, watch your tongue, girly," The old one said. "Is that any way to speak to your deities?"  
  
Farrah stared coolly at the old crone. "Deities?" She muttered. "I'm dreaming. Or I'm dead. I've probably drowned in the Zekoi by now. None of this is real anymore; what do you want from me?"  
  
The younger woman lifted an eyebrow composedly.  
  
"We want you to live, girl." She stated. Farrah snorted.  
  
"Why? I'm a slave, damn it. There's no reason to live."  
  
"Well here's one - because we told you to." The older woman smiled at Farrah. "Come now, who in Carthak would disobey the Graveyard Hag?"  
  
"I'm not Carthaki," Farrah muttered.  
  
"Then you wouldn't disobey me, now, would you? No Tortallan would ignore the Goddess. Especially a woman."  
  
Farrah stared at the two. The Graveyard Hag, and the Goddess? But why would they care? There had to be other woman, in all of Tortall and Carthak that needed their help more then she.  
  
Maybe there isn't, a selfish part of herself muttered. Maybe she was the most important to the goddesses now.  
  
"Don't get cocky," the Hag muttered. Farrah blinked, and blushed angrily.  
  
"Leave me alone!" She spat at the two of them. "I want to die, damn it! Let me!" The Hag was quiet, and the Goddess stared at Farrah with hard eyes.  
  
"And why do you want to die, child?"  
  
Not realizing that, as a goddess, she would have known, Farrah looked away and did her best to explain. "I'm pregnant," she whispered miserably. The Goddess glanced at the Hag, and then began.  
  
"And isn't pregnancy a joyful time, for a woman? Why would it be a cause for intentional death?"  
  
Farrah's shoulders shook. "It can't be joyful! It's not possible! Of anyone, you should understand. Don't rape victims go to your temples? Don't they seek justice in your temples? Don't they get help if they want to get rid of a child they've been left with? IDon't they?"/I  
  
"If it was rape, yes." She lifted an eyebrow at the girl. Farrah blushed furiously, and glared.  
  
"Well there Iaren't/I any temples dedicated to you here. And if there were, how would I get there? I can't leave the palace." She sneered scornfully at the structure over her shoulder. She lifted her hands to cover her face, and her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed. She'd nearly forgotten she floated on open air.  
  
Farrah looked up at the divine beings, he face tear-streaked. The Goddess sighed, and nodded her direction of the balcony. A strangely wonderful sensation ripped through Farrah's body as she was floated to the floor of the terrace. When her feet touched solid ground, her knees seemed to give out, and she fell, her hands coming out to catch herself.  
  
"You can't die yet," the Graveyard Hag said tiredly. "It's not your time. There are plans that have not yet played out. And in order for them to finish as they need to, you can't die yet."  
  
"Then when?" Farrah cried. "Why are you keeping me alive?" she wanted to scream, but her voice was rasping.  
  
"You'll know." The Graveyard Hag faded, and was gone. Desperately, Farrah looked to the Goddess. She shook her head sadly. "Don't try something like this again. You cannot die yet. Try to understand." And she was gone.  
  
Farrah fell forward on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. She cried herself out, until she realized that she was very vulnerable where she lay. Shakily, she got up. If she couldn't kill herself, then maybe someone else would. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: Farrah's opinion is not my own. I firmly believe in abortion; especially in cases of rape, when age interferes; abortion, I think, is saving the child from a possible bad life, in many cases. Just so you all know, I just thought her opinion would make things interesting. ^_^  
  
The next morning, she was ill again. It was as she vomited in a corner did she decide. The day went agonizingly slow as Farrah waited anxiously for the night to come. She was to go to the Emperor, of course. She prayed to any listening god that Varice would not be present.  
  
When the sun finally began to set, Farrah breathed a sigh of relief. She had a few moments to herself in the slave's quarters, and she thought about what she would say.  
  
Of course, nothing came to her. She couldn't think straight; she was worried, and frightened, and sick.  
  
When she made her way to the Emperor's suite, she paused outside the door, her eyes closed. She gathered her strength, and knocked on the door. Ozorne came to open it, startling her once more with his silence. She stepped inside, and the emperor closed the door behind her. She kept her eyes on the ground; Ozorne smiled a bit. Placing his hand on the center of her back, he led her towards the bed. Farrah halted next to it, surprising the emperor. She turned around and faced him, the look held on her face troubled.  
  
"I have something to tell you, my lord," she whispered.  
  
Ozorne lifted an eyebrow. "Really? And this would be?" His lips curled. "Know of any slaves wishing to escape?"  
  
Farrah blushed, and then paled. "No, Emperor." Taking a shaking breath, she sank to her knees, bowing to Ozorne as a Carthaki would; her head was touching the floor, her hands out on front of her. Ozorne lifted his eyebrows; even broken, she had done her best to refrain from bowing so; she didn't do it unless ordered to.  
  
"My lord, I-I think I'm. . ." Her mouth was dry, and her voice caught in her throat.  
  
The emperor was getting impatient. "Well, what is it? Speak, girl!"  
  
Farrah said nothing for a moment, and then spoke in a rush: "I think I'm pregnant, my emperor."  
  
She braced herself for whatever reaction the emperor might have.  
  
He was silent, regarding her coolly. This had come up before, of course, but many times, the slaves had been lying, hoping to achieve some height in rank. They had been beaten beyond recognition. Ozorne didn't want that to happen to her; she was entirely too pretty to be misshapen by the whip.  
  
"You think?" he asked. "And what proof do you have?"  
  
Startled, Farrah looked up at him for just a moment before placing her head on the floor again. "I've - I've been sick in the mornings, Your Imperial Majesty. And. . ." Should she tell him about the Graveyard Hag, and the Goddess? No, certainly not; she'd have to explain why she'd been out there, what she'd been about to do.  
  
"And?" Ozorne prompted, quickly loosing his patience.  
  
"And. . .I just suspect it, my lord." It wasn't the worst excuse she could have thought of, and the emperor certainly seemed to accept it.  
  
"Well. Then I will summon a healer, and you can find out for sure if you are. And, if that's the case, then the healer will rid you of it."  
  
Farrah looked up so fast, she cricked her neck. Her eyes were wide, and her face, if it was possible, had paled even more. "Rid me of it?" She had to repeat his words, to make sure he'd heard right. Ozorne stared at her with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Of course. I cannot have a bastard child running around to threaten my thrown." He smiled sardonically at her. "That's why Kaddar is here."  
  
Farrah stared at him as her throat worked. No sound came out. She paused to swallow, and tried again. "But, my emperor, it's - it's wrong to - to do that. . .it's a sin!"  
  
Ozorne laughed. The slave's lip trembled, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing. She'd come to accept it. She'd come to think that maybe Ozorne would kill her to keep the baby being born; she'd even hoped for that! But no, he wanted to keep her around for a few more years, it seemed. He'd rid her of the baby; the very thing she'd been taught all her life to never, never do. It was such a sin - It went against the Gods; only the Goddess would approve of abortion; and only if it had been rape. There were those who offered their children to other couples, but they never killed an innocent child in the womb.  
  
Farrah closed her eyes against the scalding tears that threatened to pour down her cheeks. Abort it? Kill it?  
  
She was still kneeling in front of the Emperor, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat. When the slave looked up, Ozorne no longer stood in front of her, but behind. The man placed a hand on her shoulder, enjoying the flinch he received. He drew her up, placing both hands on her shoulders. She felt herself pulled back against the Emperor, and she closed her eyes.  
  
She could feel his need, and wanted to vomit. How could he want to kill something he had fathered? Then his lips at her neck, and she had to close her eyes to keep her thoughts away from it.  
  
Just as Ozorne was lying her down on the bed, a thought came to Farrah. "My emperor," she asked, "what is the date?"  
  
He glanced up, not taking his lips from where they rested above the slave's breasts. "The twenty-first day of the fifth month." He returned his attentions to his slave's skin. "Why?"  
  
Farrah hesitated, not sure if it would make a difference. In any case, it couldn't hurt. She hoped. "My birthday," she started, squirming under his tough. "It's in a week, my emperor." Let him care, she thought. Please, Goddess, let him care.  
  
But he was an emperor. Why would he care about his slave's birthing day? "Were you counting on a present?" Ozorne almost laughed, but found his exploration of her body far more entertaining. Farrah's face fell as he hope was crushed beneath the emperor's weight. Placing his arms on either side of her head, he balanced easily as he positioned himself. "Well?"  
  
"I.I had-" She cut herself off with a gasp as he entered her. Even now, when he would have her kill a child, she was still amazed at the feelings he stirred within her, and she lifted her hips to meet him. "I had hoped," she started again, trying to keep her voice steady. "That. . .that as your favorite, you would grant. . .grant me a. . .a request." She was tired of being meek, but speaking calmly through sex was hard.  
  
Ozorne paused for a moment to blink at Farrah, before continuing with his favorite act. He didn't stop again until he had spent himself inside her. Finally lying back on his side, he pulled his slave against him, even then aware of the places they touched; her breasts crushed against his chest, thighs brushing.  
  
"What sort of request?" He whispered the question into her ear, lips nearly brushing skin.  
  
Farrah swallowed hard and bowed her head, pushing herself against his muscular, sweaty body. "I. . .I have a friend, in the city," she began carefully. "I had hoped. . .would you let me visit him?"  
  
The emperor smiled, nuzzling her neck. "Now, I don't think that's a very good idea, pet. The last time I didn't keep you in check, you tried to runaway."  
  
Farrah pulled her arms up from where they rested limply at her sides, placing her hands on his smooth chest. She pressed her flushed cheek against his skin and was surprised to find it cool. "I don't want to leave," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I love you." 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

A week later, she was walking through the city, making her way towards her 'friend's' home. The emperor had been thrown off by her words; he'd agreed, and sent her away. She was allowed out, for only half the day. She'd risen at dawn – not abnormal – and made her way out of the palace. The guards hadn't stopped her and the fleeting hope to escape welled in her; but Ozorne had assured her that she be watched until she entered her friend's house. A guard would escort her back, so there was little hope for escape from there.  
  
But Farrah didn't mind; she had his trust, however limited. It was a good thing, she knew; but she shivered slightly, realizing that she had meant her words. Biting a shaking bottom lip, Farrah looked up as she came upon Lindhall Reed's home. She glanced around her, and reached up a quivering hand to knock at the door.  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she heard from inside. The port opened, and the tall mage stood there, looking down at the slave with an arched eyebrow. "Oh? And what are you doing here?" He'd seen her at the palace; most often heading towards the emperor's quarters.  
  
"Master," she started meekly. "The grape...The grape longs to leave its vine."  
  
Reed nodded, stepping to the side and allowing her in. It was a password that had been spread among those slaves seeking freedom. It was carefully guarded. He knew that this one had tried to escape before; she'd almost endangered everything, too. But she had kept quiet; she hadn't given him away. He closed the door quickly, and turned to look back at her. "Well," he said. "What is your name?"  
  
"Nobility, I am a slave of the em-"she stopped as she glanced up at him. He had lifted an eyebrow and crossed his arms. She swallowed, and lifted her chin to look Lindhall in the eye. "My name is Farrah of Tortall, sir. I've come...I've come to seek your aid." She wasn't sure, but she thought a small smile flitted across his face.  
  
"Well, in that case, please come and sit." He gestured inside, and Farrah walked in, a bit away from the door. She stopped quickly though, careful to keep it in sight.  
  
"Please, I don't have too long, sir. I need help, soon."  
  
Lindhall frowned slightly. "What could I do for you?"  
  
Farrah played with the hem of her shirt, needling something to do with her hands. "I...I believe that I'm...." She sighed and looked down for a moment before meeting Reed's eyes again. "I'm pregnant, sir, and I need your help."  
  
Lindhall arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" Was she carrying Ozorne's baby?  
  
She bit her lip, looking down. "The emperor wants to destroy it." She looked up again, desperately. "Please, I can't let him kill it. But I don't have the Gift – there's nothing I can do. I had hoped...that you could help me, sire." Desperate eyes caught the scholar's, as she pleaded with him.  
  
Reed, having sat down, rubbed his chin. There were several things he could do to aid the girl – there was a simple spell that would hide things from the eye – but it could be seen through. He could make a simulacrum for her, but it would not hold out for nine months. Then again... "Are you completely adverse to raising the baby in your womb?"  
  
Farrah frowned lightly, not understanding  
  
Lindhall sighed and started again. "Do you know what a surrogate mother is, Farrah of Tortall?" When she only blinked, Lindhall leaned forward. "The baby could be placed in the womb of another woman. She would raise the baby in her body; it would live, and none in the palace would be wiser to it. If I could find someone, would you agree?"  
  
The slave paused, biting her lower lip for a moment. Did it really matter if it grew inside her, as long as it grew? She nodded quickly and moved forward quickly to clasp the mage's hand. "Thank you," she said softly. "Is it at all possible to do this now? I don't know...I don't think I'll be able to come back."  
  
Reed paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I could take the embryo now, and, figuratively speaking, 'put it on ice' until I could find someone trustworthy enough. Quickly, come; it may take a while, and I need to find the spell." 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Before the end of the day, Farrah had returned to the palace; nerves on end, but no longer pregnant. Her return was a quiet one – the slave returned directly to the room she shared with hundreds of other slaves, and sat on her thin pallet. She felt detached from the world; as if she wasn't really there. Lindhall Reed had assured her that this was only a side effect of the magic he had used to transfer the – what had he called it? – embryo from her womb.  
  
The emperor did not summon her that night. Nor was she given duties for the day following her outing. Instead of following the other slaves from their rooms, she laid on her pallet, still feeling the odd indifference. As if in a daze, she retraced the path she had tread only twice before as twilight fell.  
  
Finding her way to the hanging gardens – the ones on the balcony – Farrah knelt amidst the elaborate bushes as she looked down on the Zekoi.  
  
"I thought you would be here."  
  
For a moment, Farrah seemed to ignore the voice. Then, slowly, she turned to look up at the Carthaki Emperor. "I'm here," she mumbled, as if it weren't painfully obvious. She turned her back on him to continue staring at the great river.  
  
Ozorne moved closer until his legs brushed the slave's back. She didn't flinch, but her head dropped a few inches, as if she wanted to dissolve into herself. When the Emperor's hand brushed her icy blond hair, Farrah looked up hesitantly. Ozorne was observing the river as well, but he watched her, from the corner of his eye.  
  
Carefully, the slave stood up. She didn't step away and rose slowly, brushing against her master as she stood. Only when she had straightened did Carthak's emperor turn to look down at her. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing, and in so doing pushing her against it. Farrah look up at him, breath catching in her throat. His arms left the rail and wrapped around her. They tipped forward until Farrah was balancing them both against the railing. It placed his lips barely an inch from hers.  
  
Eyes closing, the Tortallan pushed her head forward closing that last distance. She expected to melt in his arms, to let him carry her away – even for him to start undressing her there.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
He pulled away. Surprised – hurt – Farrah opened her eyes; and found the cold, gilded, golden eyes of the Emperor of Carthak. She held her breath, a sudden terror squeezing her heart. He looked the same as when he'd first taken her to his rooms. His eyes scared her; and, in the second that he lifted his hand, Farrah's eyes widened. He wouldn't, she thought. Then the back of his hand collided with her cheekbone. She was pushed down and to the side with the force of his blow. Shivering, she huddled on the ground, covering her head. Roughly, Ozorne reached down and grabbed Farrah by the scruff of her neck, pulling her upright.  
  
She was crying.  
  
He had not expected to see that. But the Emperor did not falter for even a second. He brought her close, their faces inches apart. And, feeling so different from before, Farrah squirmed, wanting to be as far from him as was possible. "I am Emperor here," he hissed. "You will obey me in everything. Do you understand?" She nodded, blinking eyes that refused to halt streams of tears. Goddess, but what had she done? She...she'd kissed him. Was that bad? Did he not want to be kissed? Did he want to be the one in control? That had to be it. And why not? He was, after all, the emperor of all Carthak...  
  
She shook herself mentally as Ozorne threw her down. Without a word, he turned his back on her and left. When he was out of site, Farrah bowed her head, a slight, tiny frown marring her face. Why...why was she trying...to see it his way? She was a slave, and slaves obeyed their masters.  
  
What? No! No, that's not how it was! She was...she was a servant to the Emperor – well, now she was, but she had not been born into this. She had been...  
  
She had been Tortallan. She had been born free.  
  
She had been meant for more than this.  
  
"No," she whispered. "No. I don't understand." 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The crowd grew silent as he stepped up onto the wooden stage. Expectantly, all eyes in the tavern were on the minstrel. Bringing his mandolin up, skilled fingers plucked at the strings in a warm up. Then, in the eager silence, he began the few measures solo. Soon he was joined by other minstrels who frequented the inn. One took up a drum, and another a flute. And then, the first musician began to sing in a clear, high alto.  
  
"I was barely seventeen,  
  
The road to fame and glory called me,  
  
Heedless of the storm, the wind and rain.  
  
I was young and full of fire,  
  
My father's farm no more could hold me  
  
How could I know the road was paved with pain?  
  
"'Twas the long way home,  
  
The future looked so bright,  
  
'Twas the long way home,  
  
For me.  
  
"When I think of all the miles,  
  
My weary feet have put behind me,  
  
It nearly breaks my vagabond's heart.  
  
There were times I felt so lost,  
  
Not even God himself could find me,  
  
It made me rue the day I made my start.  
  
"'Twas the long way home,  
  
O'er vale and misty mountain,  
  
'Twas the long way home for me.  
  
The interlude began and the musician closed his eyes, fingers flying over the strings. It was a song he had written; the accompaniment died away, letting him take the glory.  
  
The crowd was silent, listening to the minstrel, barely breathing. He cast an almost magical weave around them, and they offered no resistance. The audience was a willing vassal; they sat, spellbound by the minstrel's words.  
  
"'Twas the long way home,  
  
Though winds of fortune pushed me,  
  
'Twas the long way home for me.  
  
"And as I walked through foreign land,  
  
And tried to find my way,  
  
I longed to see my father's face,  
  
To hold his hand and say:  
  
"My road was long and rough,  
  
Through the heat and cold I've wandered,  
  
I've seven years been absent from my home  
  
But now I have returned,  
  
Like the prodigal son of old,  
  
Now I never a-more,  
  
Shall roam!  
  
"'Twas the long way home,  
  
I found my peace at last,  
  
'Twas the long way home for me;  
  
For me!  
  
'Twas the long way home,  
  
I found my home at last,  
  
'Twas the long way home for me."  
  
This was followed by a verse of the musician and his mandolin, humming. As the last chords were struck, the crowd erupted into applause and whistles. William left the stage with a small smile on his worn face, giving a small bow to his listeners. Hearing the other minstrels take up another, more lively song, the young man headed for the bar. Sitting down, he smiled as the bartender placed a chilled glass of red wine in front of him. He had stayed here for quite a while now; people had picked up his habits.  
  
Sipping his drink, William turned to watch the crowd. It was time to leave, he thought to himself. It was time to continue his own journey, to find his way home. He was long overdue; and his own father would be worried.  
  
As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, William sighed. Picking up his lute, he nodded to the bartender, leaving three gold pieces – a nice tip, considering it cost only a silver bit. Leaving the tavern and heading for the stables, the young musician pulled his gelding out of their borrowed stall, mounting up.  
  
With the moon as his guide, William traveled along the path, heading ever south. That night's showing had been in Pearlmouth fief; the next stop was Carthak. The young minstrel had been all over; Scanra, Galla, Tusaine, Tyra, the Yamani Islands, the Copper Isles, and all over Tortall many times. Carthak was the one place he had avoided until now. Tortall was by far his favorite place; and the tales they told of Carthak were not inviting.  
  
But if he ever intended to find a way home, he had to do it soon. Already, a year or more he'd spent in this realm. The song, the one the audience had so loved, was his story; and the end her hoped to find. He had wandered far, too far and he knew not how to return. He'd made a name for himself in the many weeks and months he'd spent wondering; all the countries knew of him. He had talked to mages far and wide; but none knew how to help. Very few even took him seriously.  
  
But it didn't matter; no one could help him on this continent. Carthak was the only unexplored country left to him. And he had to find something there.  
  
Kneeing his horse into a gallop, he followed his nose and headed for the closest port; he'd catch the next ship off the continent. 


End file.
